A Heart Full of Love
by Snapegirlkmf
Summary: Belle loses her heart to the most unlikely sorcerer, Rumplestiltskin, and learns to see him through new eyes. But can it last? Prequel to the Gold Standard. Rumbelle.
1. Chapter 1

**A Heart Full of Love**

**A/N: Interestingly enough, the title for this piece came from one of my favorite musicals, Les Miserables, from a song from that soundtrack. But I felt it suited Belle and Rumple too here. This story is a short prequel to The Gold Standard. Enjoy!**

It had been two months since Belle had made the bargain with the Beast, otherwise known as the dark sorcerer, Rumplestitlskin. Two months of being half-chatelaine and half-maid, two months of slowly growing to realize that the man she had made that fateful bargain with _was_ a man, and not the horrible heartless monster everyone else believed him to be.

It had dawned on her gradually, from the day he let her out of the dungeon and gave her a pleasant room in the castle, which he certainly didn't have to do, to the day he'd teased her after she'd broken that cup from that expensive porcelain tea set. She'd expected him to fly into a rage and scream at her, lock her up, or beat her the way her father sometimes did to servants who failed in their duties. Or transform her into wind or seven notes of music. He was, after all, a powerful sorcerer, the most powerful, some said.

But all he'd done was look up and shrug, saying, "It's just a cup."

Those four words had told her more than the most eloquent statement about what Rumplestiltskin cared about. And despite his collection of unique and magical objects, it wasn't things. No man who was a miser, who hoarded possessions would have taken so calmly the destruction of one of his artifacts. No, for all that he had been and done, Rumplestiltskin was not like the nobles she had known in her father's kingdom, the nobles who would have beaten a servant or peasant to death for breaking a cup, or spilling wine on their shirt, or getting mud on their fancy new boots. _Those_ people valued their possessions like they would their children, sometimes more so.

But not him. Not the "beast".

She could not fathom why that was . . . unless . . . he had once come from the common people. Not having wealth tended to make you value things other than what money could buy. Sometimes the poor learned the value of a smile and appreciation for a job well done before a noble would think twice. Belle had learned that hanging around the castle kitchens, from the head cook, Tansy, and her helper, a girl called Alice Carstairs, a pretty country girl sent up to the city to make her fortune. Alice, who like Belle, always had her nose in a book, because the squire's daughter was allowed to daydream. Sometimes, after her work was done.

Belle missed Alice, more sometimes than she missed her father, truth be told. And much more than she missed the arrogant Gaston, her betrothed. Actually, that had been Maurice's idea. He had declared his bookish daughter would waste away into a ghost unless he arranged a marriage for her. Belle would have rather faded away than be married to that popinjay, who loved best to hear the sound of his own voice crowing. But, like so much else, a woman's fate was not her own. Unless chance dictated otherwise.

When chance had, Belle had taken it for all she was worth. She knew her father had been horrified at the prospect of his only daughter being enslaved to a wicked sorcerer like Rumplestiltskin. But Belle had been more horrified at the prospect of being Gaston's wife, forever at the mercy of his handsome narcisstic self. She did not want to be a showpiece a man could dangle on his arm and show off to his friends. She wanted to _do_ something useful, to _be_ something besides an empty-headed pretty fool.

Now she had. She, Belle of the House of Beauchamp, had singlehandedly saved her kingdom from the ravages of the ogres and their kin. By making a bargain with the Dark One in exchange for the lives of her people and her father. It wasn't something a woman was called upon to do . . . or even should do according to the code of behavior she lived under. But Belle had flouted convention before, and doing so then had seemed like the only way to still have a kingdom left.

Her people mattered, her friends mattered, her father mattered more than some stupid rules or her own happiness. She had been taught her duty as a princess as a child by her mother, Alina. Her beautiful gentle mother, who had died when Belle was seven, of a fever no doctor could cure. Since then Belle's mother had been the head cook and the kitchen staff at the palace, who always had time to listen to a young girl's concerns and troubles and always time for a hug or a bite of a sticky bun fresh from the oven. From Tansy Belle had learned how to season a roast and bake cookies and pies. And to love the simple hardworking people who made up her kingdom.

Tansy and Alice as well had taught her that work was work, no matter who did it, and doing it should be done well. Thus she did as Rumplestiltskin bade her, and kept his house and his collection tidy. She also baked and cooked for him, when she found out the famed sorcerer had been living off of bread, butter, carrots and lentil soup, for the most part. That was fine for farmers and peasants, but who would have thought the sorcerer that could spin straw into gold would be eating such fare?

"I'm used to it," was all he said to her one day when she asked why.

"Used to it?" she had asked, but he had walked away, leaving her to ponder how in the world someone like him got used to eating like a peasant? Unless . . . once he'd been one? Once . . .

That night she made a roast beef, with pan gravy and tender asparagus and new potatoes. The items had appeared upon request in the pantry after she'd stood there and said something like, "I wish I had some asparagus and potatoes." That was how she discovered the larder would provide her with most anything she wished or needed.

She also made a strawberry pie.

She would never forget the look of sheer astonishment when she had set the dishes before Rumplestiltskin at supper. He looked like some new page boy at one of her father's feasts.

Then it had been her turn to gape when he told her to sit down and eat it _with_ him. Servants eating with their masters was just not done, not in any kingdom she knew of! Except here, where it appeared the only rules was the whim of the master.

"You want _me—_your—servant—to eat with you?" she had sputtered.

"Yes. Now sit down."

"But . . . I'm not . . . you can't . . ."

"It's my home, Belle, and I can do what I like and when I like it," he had answered, unfazed. "Now sit and eat before this lovely roast goes all cold. I'm sure you're hungry, with all the work you do around here."

Utterly flummoxed, she had obeyed. The dinner had been superb, she had learned her lessons well from Tansy and Alice, and no one who'd learned under them could fail to be a good chef.

Her sorcerer—_since when had he become hers—_was mightily impressed. "This is marvelous, dearie. You must do it again some time."

"Oh, I can do it every night. I can cook more than this."

"Can you?" he raised an eyebrow. "How did a princess learn to cook like a master chef?"

She giggled. "Because I was a very unconventional princess, with no mother and a father who was busy all day and didn't have time to smother me with etiquette lessons. So I took cooking lessons instead, belowstairs with my head chef and her helper, my friend Alice."

"Ah. I see. Well, that's all the better for me," he smirked, his odd eyes twinkling. Then he asked, with all the curiosity of a child, "What's for dessert?"

"You'll see," she had teased, liking the light in his eyes, which she had grown used to over time.

He had adored her pie, and Belle had admitted it was her favorite too.

"We should have it every night then."

"Wouldn't you get bored having it all the time?" she queried.

"Hmm . . . yes, I suppose I would. How about every other night? Every week?"

She burst out laughing. "It's clear you're no noble with that attitude." Then she gasped at her boldness.

"I never said I was, dearie," he snorted when she would have apologized.

"What were you then?" she dared to ask.

"Figure it out. I'm sure you're smart enough to do so," he had replied maddeningly.

It had taken her two weeks to be reasonably sure . . . but she had guessed from the first moment he'd sat at the wheel, spinning with the ease of long practice. Magic or not, no one became so proficient without hours of time spent doing this same thing over and over. Belle knew how to spin, because it was considered a womanly art here, but she knew that in other kingdoms, men could spin and sew too, and made their livelihoods doing so.

"You . . . you're a spinner," she said hesitantly one morning as she dusted a section of the curio cabinet.

"The best in my village, once upon a time, dearie," he replied, deftly twirling the wheel about.

She watched him spin, absorbed by the way his long fingered hands took the straw and stroked it onto the wheel, his foot pumping the treadle in one continuous motion. He made it look so easy. The mark of a master. His delicate hands drew out the spun straw into a long glittering thread and twisted it deftly onto a spool. It was like a dance, where the partners were old friends who knew every step.

It was hypnotizing, peaceful, and Belle could have watched him all day.

Except dinner wouldn't wait and she was hungry.

That night they had tender chicken and dumplings, with new peas and carrots, swimming in a rich gravy that Rumplestitlskin damn near licked his fingers over. That and the round loaf of freshly baked bread.

"What's the occasion, dearie?"

"I just . . . felt happy today is all," she said, blushing slightly and looking down at her skirt. It was blue, the color of blue belles, he'd said, and soft as clouds. He'd spun the cloth, chosen it because it matched her eyes, and given it to her without a word. Grateful beyond measure, she'd made it into a dress, not fancy, but not plain either, just right for a servant who wanted to look good for her master. _Since when had she wanted to impress him?_ she wondered.

"Ah. Then I must keep you happy more often," he'd chuckled, and toasted her with his wine glass.

"I . . . I made angel food cake for dessert. With raspberry sauce," she'd stammered.

"Sounds divine. I'm not picky, dearie. You ought to know that by now."

"I know. But most . . . most nobles are. Tansy had to cook six dishes every day to keep them all satisfied. And even then, some still complained."

"Humph! Spoiled wretches! They ought to try eating dandelions and straw."

"Did you?" she asked, her eyes wide as she waited for his answer.

"You'll eat almost anything when you're starving, dearie. Rats, leather, it all tastes good when your belly's touching your backbone."

She was horrified. "You ate . . . _rats_?"

"And it was considered lucky we could," he answered calmly. "During the Ogre Wars, food was a commodity—and it was one most of the villages didn't have. So . . . we made do."

"M-Made do? But that's . . . horrible! Why didn't your lord help?"

"The duke? He was busy fighting a war, dearie. Had no time for the villagers, except when he needed new bodies to shove into the war machine. Then he came calling. Otherwise . . . we shifted for ourselves." Rumplestiltskin shrugged.

"I would never . . . let my people be reduced to eating . . . _rats!_" she cried, scandalized.

"You wouldn't," he agreed. "But they're not all like you, Belle. Most don't care one way or the other. It's how the world is."

_Not my world!_ She had thought fiercely. But she had known he spoke the truth.

And she had wondered, alone in her room that night, if that was what had made him what he was?

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

As the weeks passed, he gave her more and more freedom inside the castle. Now she had full run of the library, which was fantastic, a treasure trove of books and knowledge just waiting to be explored. "Where did you get so many books?" she'd asked one fine spring morning.

"I made deals with people for them. Traded for them. Bought them."

"How did you learn to read? I mean . . . most commoners don't . . ."

"You're right. But I was bright lad and my best friend growing up was old Simon, a hedge healer. He used to be a monastery boy, and the monks taught him the power of the written word. He in turn taught me. Words are power, dearie. They can change the world."

"Ideas are power."

"Ideas are words put into action. Every good sorcerer knows that."

"But you can use magic without saying a thing."

"Sometimes. But the most powerful spells we write down," he said, then changed the subject. "Feel free to use the library, Belle. No knowledge is ever wasted."

She found plenty of new ideas in those books and plenty of tales too. She cherished them, for they allowed her to escape into unknown realms and become someone different for an hour or two. But one idea she had blooming in her heart was not in any book.

And it concerned her master—the heartless beast.

From then on they had many discussions—over books and other things, and he seemed not to mind that she was opinionated and had more on her mind than sewing, raising babies, and picking out clothes for tomorrow. He delighted in her sharp wit, and parried her stabs with his own equally cynical remarks. She found him strangely . . . endearing, the way a grumpy cat is endearing, especially when he curls up in your lap and begins to purr.

_Don't be ridiculous, Belle! As if he could ever come to care for you! The princess he turned into his personal chatelaine!_

Alice would have giggled wickedly and told her to go for it.

But she was not Alice. And she was afraid to risk her heart.

Until the day he caught her when she fell off the ladder pulling down the drapes.

He had done so easily, without a second thought, as if he spent the day rescuing her from her own foolishness.

And she . . . she had nestled into his arms without a qualm, it felt so . . . natural . . . as if she had been born to fit against him . . . and his arms had held her so securely that she was not afraid of falling, not ever again.

His touch had thrilled her like no other man's ever had. When Gaston had touched her it made her feel trapped, smothered, like a bird in a cage. But when Rumplestiltskin touched her . . . she felt a freedom she had never known, and her heart had thundered in her breast like a runaway warhorse. It was crazy. It was totally unacceptable. But it was there and she could not deny it, anymore than she could deny her own name.

His touch quickened her very soul and made her long to have him run his hands all over her . . . in places no man ever had.

Her face flaming, she had run from the room, hoping he hadn't guessed why she was blushing. Then again, had he been too?

_Is he . . . falling in love with me? Am I falling in love with him? Can it be? The princess and the spinner? Or beauty and the beast? It's like some tale in a book! Then again, who said fairy tales can't come true?_

She had no answer to her question and she knew she'd never be bold enough to ask him for one.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Now she hung the wash on the line in the garden. Her dress, his shirts. Her apron, his trousers. Then the sheets and towels. As she hung, she sang softly, an old tune Alice had taught her.

"Love has no reason, love has no rhyme,

Romance can blossom any old time . . ."

She reached for her last clothespin and gasped as her hand touched flesh.

"Allow me," he said, smirking at having startled her.

"You scared me!"

"Afraid the big bad wolf would gobble you up?" He hung the last handkerchief.

"Ha! If the wolf tried that I'd give him a good whack with my broom!" she shot back.

"I'd better watch out for the broom then," he snickered and danced away when she went to smack his arm. "That was a pretty sing you were singing. You have a beautiful voice."

"You're just . . . saying that. I . . . only sing when I'm alone."

"You should sing more often."

"Why don't you sing too?"

"Me?" He put a hand over his heart and laughed. "Dearie, when have you ever heard me sing?"

"You . . . when you're making a potion or something, I've heard you . . . sometimes . . ."

"Dancing around a cauldron, sure I can chant things, but the only songs I know are ones men sing after having one too many pints of ale. And surely you don't want to hear some of those."

"I might," she flung back. "If I was in the mood."

"Oh?"

"It all depends."

"On what?"

"If you can catch me!" she challenged, then she took off running.

She ran around the mulberry bush on the right side of the path.

He chased her, moving like a cat, faster and faster. "Here I come, dearie!" he cried, then began to sing, "All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel . . ."

"See, you're singing," she cried gleefully.

"I am not! It's a nursery rhyme!" he called.

She ran around the other side, giggling. "Quit chasing me, Rum!" she shouted. "Or else I'll shove you into the mulberry bush!"

"The only place I'll let you shove me, dearie, is on a bed! With satin sheets!" he called wickedly, then he doubled back and grabbed her to him.

Suddenly their mouths were very close, almost touching.

Without thinking, only feeling, she wrapped her arms around his neck and their lips met for the briefest of instants.

Kissing him was like kissing a bonfire, it made her hot and stole the air from her body. She gasped, molding herself to him, his touch making her ache in places she didn't know she could.

He looked startled, as if kissing him were shocking. Then he drew away, as if he had touched hot coals.

"Forgive me. I . . . forgot myself," he whispered hoarsely.

"No. I . . . I wanted you to," she said gently.

"You can't possibly . . . mean that," he shook his head, as if in denial.

"Why?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Because . . . look at what I am. And then look at you. Then ask yourself that question again. You'll see the answer."

"You think you're not able to be loved," she said, understanding dawning. "But you're wrong. You're not a monster, Rum. You only think so. But that's not what I see."

"Then you're blind."

"No. But you see as others see you, not as you are. You think you're irredeemable. But I believe that if you show true remorse and wish to change, you can."

"The things I've done . . . no woman could forgive . . ." he drew away, his face a mask.

But she saw beneath the façade, and to the pain behind his eyes. "She must have hurt you really badly," she found herself saying, for suddenly she could see that his distrust was founded upon rejection and suspected that the rejection had been another woman. He had spoken of a lost son, was it possible his wife had left him and taken the child with her?

Rumplestiltskin bit his lip. Belle's words recalled to him Milah's angry accusations and he winced. "It was my fault. I didn't try hard enough to make her see . . . I was a failure. She's gone now, along with my son."

"Did she leave you?"

"Yes," he replied heavily. She had been taken hostage by pirates at first, but in the end, when they had mocked and jeered at him for a cripple, laughed at his refusal to fight their captain, they had offered her a choice. She could stay with her crippled, cowardly husband, and be a pariah all her days, or come with them for adventure and riches on the high seas, and earn fame and fortune.

"_What about Bae?" he cried, stunned. "What about your son?"_

_She had looked conflicted for a moment. "I'll return someday. With lots of gold and a reputation to match. One better than his father's, at least. I'll be back, and he can be proud of one of us, at least. You can tell him that, if he asks."_

"_You're abandoning us?" he had gasped._

"_No, she's choosing a better life, cripple!" laughed one of the pirates._

Maybe it had been true. All he had known was that she had walked away, anxious to be rid of him, and had left him behind. She had never returned and he knew the reason why. It was because of him that Bae had been left without a mother. For she could not bear to be the wife of a coward, a crippled spinner whose one talent was to spin wool into the finest thread in seven kingdoms.

Now Belle looked at him, with her brilliant blue eyes, and he turned away, his face twisting. "I know well what I am. And you would do well not to mock me."

"Come back!" she yelled as he strode across the garden and back into the castle. "I'm not like her. I won't leave. I . . . I . . . love you," but her claim was made to empty air, as Rumplestiltskin fled back to the sanctuary of his rooms, never hearing her final words.

She stared at the laundry flapping in the breeze and thought sadly, _He didn't hear me. Poor man! He's so afraid of losing someone he's closed up his heart in a box. But I'll find a way to free it, and free him. Love always finds a way. And I have a heart full of love, and am just waiting to share it with him._

She walked slowly back to the castle, her hands in her pockets, and thought that their next meeting would end much differently than this one. For against all odds, she had captured his heart, and she vowed then and there to never let it go.


	2. The Trapped Heart

**2**

**The Trapped Heart**

******A/N: I originally intended this to be a one-shot, but my muse had other ideas, and this part was begging me to be written. So here it is. The ratings changed a little because of the content, and hope you like it!**

Rumplestiltskin slammed the door to his castle so hard the dishes rattled in the cabinet beside the hearth. Afterwards he just stood before the door, his arms wrapped about himself, shivering. How could he have been so stupid? To allow her to get close—to allow _anyone_ to get close again—after losing Bae and Milah? He knew better. He knew that all that following your heart got you—all that loving someone with all of your heart—got you was nothing. An empty chair at an empty table. And tears and an empty bed.

He spread his hands and gazed down at them.

Those wonderful long fingered hands that could spin the most delicate thread without breaking it, spin straw into gold, conjure magic from the air . . . hold Belle with such passion . . ._No!_ he scolded himself thoroughly. _You will not think of her that way again! It's impossible, you fool! She's an innocent maiden and you're nothing but a dried up cowardly sorcerer that your wife left and your son ran away from. You'd never be worthy of her. Never! Not in a thousand years! How could she want you, Rumplestiltskin, when you are this—this **monster**_?

He clenched his hands into fists. When would he ever learn? Must he have every lesson beaten into him until he bled, and his heart tore in two? Belle Beauchamp was not for him—not as he was, the poor cowardly spinner, and not now, as the most feared sorcerer in the land. She had kissed him out of a moment's lapse in judgment, not out of true desire. Yes, that was it. She didn't really love him. For who could love a beast? True love was not for him, he'd learned that long ago.

He took a deep breath, settling his racing heart, and walked over to his wheel. Sometimes, as he'd told Belle weeks ago, spinning helped him forget—helped him forget that once he'd been a man, and his life had been his own, and not a slave to power's price. But he hadn't been happy then either, known as a coward and trying to raise his son on his own, with food and money always a problem. Now he was a powerful sorcerer, the Dark One of legend, and he had more money than he could spend and anything he wanted and yet he had found that wealth and power brought him no solace. Because what he wanted—what he had _always_ wanted—someone to love him and only him—was not to be bought, sold, or dealt over.

He had brought Belle here out of a simple need to assuage his loneliness. Yet she had become so much more. And now he felt trapped, terrified. He, the Dark One, afraid of a mere girl! It was laughable. He could destroy her with one snap of his finger, one bit of his power. But he never would. Because, despite all of the hard lessons learned, his foolish heart had gone and done the unforgivable.

He had fallen in love again.

He spun mechanically, barely needing to think about what his hands were doing after so many years of doing this work. _Stupid, stupid, stupid Rumplestiltskin!_ The words in his head kept time to rhythm of his spinning. _You're a beast, a monster, you can't go falling in love with her. You're not worthy! Look at what happened last time!_

Maybe the gentle humming of the wheel would drown out the cries of his lonely heart.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

When Belle came inside after finishing the laundry, she noticed that Rumplestiltskin was nowhere to be found. She quietly put away the laundry and then began to start on dinner, making a roast goose with potatoes, onions, and carrot and some bread. The baking eased the ache in her heart somewhat. She knew that Rum had left her not because he found kissing her repulsive, but out of fear, and she contented herself with taking it slower, giving him time to adjust and hopefully conquering the fear that resided there.

When dinner was ready, she rang the bell to call him to the table.

It was a few minutes before he responded, and when he did, he ate dinner in silence. Belle filled it with a rather funny story about nearly leaving the giblets inside the goose before roasting it, but luckily she remembered them before sliding the pan in the oven.

That coaxed a faint smile from his lips.

He retired to the couch in front of the fire while she washed the dishes, nursing a single cup of wine.

As was her wont, she settled down in the recliner next to him with a book and began to read. She often read or mended beside him before going to bed, and usually they had lively discussions. But not this night. This night he stared steadfastly into the fire and Belle kept halting in reading _Sense and Sensibility_ to stare at his hands curled in his lap and wish they were running through her hair.

Finally, after half an hour of such torture, she rose and went to bed.

This pattern continued for two more nights. On the third night she was fed up with both her and his behavior and she came to stand before him, faint traces of soapsuds on her hands as she said, "Is it something I've done?"

"Huh?" He jerked up from his contemplation, startled. "What did you do?"

"That's what I'm wondering. Because I must have done something to make you not want to talk to me anymore."

"I . . . No . . . I thought . . . after what happened . . . you wouldn't want to talk with _me_ . . ." His eyes locked with hers, and there was such longing and sorrow in his gaze that she almost felt a physical pain.

"This is silly," she said softly. "We need to stop this. I want to talk to you, Rum. Not just because you're here, but because I enjoy it. I enjoy _you._"

He blinked. "You enjoy me? The company of the Dark One?" he inquired bitingly.

"Yes. When you aren't acting like an ass!" she snapped. "There's lots of things I enjoy about you. If I had a paper I'd write them down. But one of the things I enjoy most about you is that you don't say what you don't mean. Not to me. Except when you're scared out of your mind."

He lifted his chin a notch. "I'm not a coward!"

"I never said that. But everyone's afraid of something."

"And you think I'm afraid of you? Don't be ridiculous. That's like saying a wolf is afraid of a fawn!"

She came closer. "And yet I see the fear in your eyes. Don't. Whatever she did, is done and over with. Don't let her ruin what we have together."

He snorted. He wanted to jump off the couch and run out of the room. Yet she held him still with the mere power of her bewitching blue eyes. "It was just a kiss," he said, trying to be nonchalant.

"Was it? Then do it again," she urged.

"What? You want me to kiss you?"

"You heard me. You're not deaf, even if you are old enough to be my father," she teased.

"I don't age like normal people!" he huffed, insulted. "I'm not in my dotage. Everything still works!"

She raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

He could never resist a challenge. He pulled her into his arms, intending to give her an impersonal peck on the lips and let her go.

But as soon as their lips met, things changed. He felt a familiar fire in his blood, an awakening, and passion swept through him such as he'd not felt since he was a young idiot making eyes at Milah across the way, and maybe not even then. He drank her in like a draught of fine wine, she intoxicated him, sweet as sugar and wild as a mountain torrent.

He could smell the soap that still clung to her as she wound her hands in his hair, and kissed him back like there was no tomorrow.

And maybe there wasn't. For them there was only _now._

And gods help him, but he wanted her. No, not just wanted, _needed_ her. Her touch brought agony and ecstasy and he knew in that instant that his heart would never be free. Not ever again.

She drew back, gasping, and said, "If that was just a kiss, I would hate to see what you meant by a real one."

He said nothing, simply looked up at her.

Then she laughed and kissed him again, gentler this time.

"The fawn has captured the wolf," he admitted softly. "And you're not afraid?"

"No."

"Most everyone fears me and my magic."

"I don't. I have love's magic on my side."

He laughed. "Love. Do you even know what that is?"

"I know it's how I feel when I'm with you."

"That's desire, dearie."

"No, it's more than that. I'll . . . I'll prove it to you."

"Where?" he laughed huskily.

"On that bed you mentioned before. With those silk sheets."

He smirked. "This could be a long night, Belle."

"I don't care. We can sleep late in the morning," she returned saucily.

"Remember, this was _your_ idea," he reminded her before he swept her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs to his solitary room. His leg was going to kill him later, but he found he didn't care. His heart was already singing a wedding march and for once he allowed himself to hope.

They tumbled down upon the bed in a heap, laughing like two drunkards. Belle wasn't sure if she wasn't drunk, his touch made her dizzy, when it wasn't making her burn like a pitch-dipped torch. He kissed her again and she cried out with the sudden pleasure. "Rum! Our clothes!"

"Are easily managed," he said, and then he banished them with a thought.

They stared at one another, unashamed.

"You are so beautiful. Like an angel in a painting," he murmured.

Gently her hand touched his leg, where a scar ran from his knee down to his ankle, his legacy of that fateful day. He quivered, amazed that she touched him there, when Milah had refused to even look at him once he came home.

"And you—are like a fine marble sculpture."

"With a crippled leg," he mocked softly.

"Does it hinder you?" she queried mischievously.

"Like hell," he growled, pretending to be insulted, while all the while his heart thrilled to her touch, like the delicate weave of silk caressing his ruined flesh. "Are you sure? This is what you want?"

"Yes! Now shut up and kiss me, Rum! Kiss me the way you do in your dreams, when you're free and unafraid."

Then he did as she commanded, for this night there was no master and servant, only lovers, and he wished to be free of the doubt and the fear. He made of his heart a gift, and she took it and tucked it safely away, like the precious treasure it was, giving him hers in return.

They were up all night, learning each other with new ways and eyes and when dawn broke they did not even notice, curled in one another's arms, reborn anew of passion, fire, and a love just beginning to blossom.

When Belle woke at last, the noon sun shone in her eyes, making her squint. Beside her, Rumplestiltskin was sleeping like the dead, clearly she'd exhausted him, she thought with a smirk! Well, he had done the same to her . . . blushing she crawled from their nest of blankets and stood shivering for a moment on the flagstones until she hopped onto the thick rug and started to dress.

Pieces of her wardrobe were scattered all over and she thought magical clothing removal wasn't all it was cracked up to be. She finally found her other shoe, it was under the bed, and stuffed her foot in it. Then she cast a loving glance at the sorcerer still snoozing, his hair tumbled lovingly about his face.

It brought a smile to her lips. Then she tiptoed downstairs, her mind still awhirl with the events of the night, and giddy as a schoolgirl, she waltzed into the kitchen. This time she would bring him breakfast in bed, and see what he would have to say to _that._ She began to heat up the stove, rubbing her eyes and stretching. Finally, his trapped heart had been freed, and she was going to make sure it stayed that way.

**A/N: Should there be a part three?**


	3. Conflicted Hearts

**3**

**Conflicted Hearts**

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to write part three of this! And thanks to Twylla Mercedes for giving me the idea for the next morning.**

Rumplestiltskin stirred and woke soon after Belle had gone into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He yawned and sat up, blinking at the strong sunlight coming from the windows. Was it noon already? How had he slept so long? were his first thoughts. Hard on the heels of that came a sharp recollection of just what had gone on between these sheets last night, and even into the early morning. He found himself blushing scarlet and looking around, only to find Belle's side of the bed empty.

_Dear gods, did we really . . . was I so mad with desire . . ._? He had never been like that before, not with any woman, certainly not Milah and not even that tavern wench once, what was her name again? Barbara, Betty . . . anyhow, neither of them had ever made him feel the way Belle had . . . so adored, so loved . . . and heaven help him . . . he'd done it with an unmarried girl . . . and a virgin one at that. There was a reason certain spells of sacrifice called for a virgin, untouched by any man. It had to do with purity of spirit, body, and magic. Rumplestiltskin felt a pang of regret. He hadn't _meant_ for this to happen. All he'd wanted to do was kiss her.

_You **did** kiss her, you fool! About a dozen times last night! Among other things!_ The crimson flush deepened. _You rode her like a damned rocking horse, you bloody lecher!_ He castigated himself. He could recall being gentle, but only the first time. After that . . . well, things had become very heated. _She must hate you now, because otherwise she'd still be here,_ his conscience, a thing he thought dead long ago, whimpered. _Instead she's probably hiding in a hole or fled from the castle! _True, he remembered _her_ initiating this whole thing, and he _hadn't_ raped her, but still . . . she was an innocent and he was . . . well, a damn sight more experienced! _Did I hurt her? Is that why she ran? Was it horrible for her? For me it was . . . indescribable . . . but was I really that bad? Maybe she's afraid of me now, I wouldn't be a bit surprised . . ._

What had started out as a kind of joy upon first waking had now turned into a morass of recrimination and regret and dread. He had never hurt a woman before, despite his dark reputation, and he was praying he had not done so now. But doubt lingered like a festering sore and he slowly sat up, wondering if perhaps he should start looking for her on the grounds. Had she bolted as soon as it was light? Or perhaps she had left recently? He could imagine what grist _this_ would provide for the rumor mill—hell, people already thought he murdered children and drank blood, what was raping a girl added to that?

Before he could even push the covers back, the door swung open . . . to reveal Belle, wearing the same blue dress she'd had on yesterday, carrying a breakfast tray. "Oh, good morning, Rum! I'd hoped you'd be awake."

Rumplestiltskin just gaped at her. "Then you don't . . . you aren't . . ." he fumbled for words, he was so practiced in their use, he now sounded like a stammering idiot. What was _wrong_ with him? "I . . . umm . . ."

She placed the tray on the bed next to him and climbed on the other side. The bed was huge, big enough for four people. "Are you all right? Because you look sort of . . . stunned? Is it because you just woke up?"

"Err . . . no . . . What do you remember about . . . last night?" Steam was rising off the plate of eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast and the coffee smelled heavenly. His stomach was gurgling, despite the butterflies in it.

To his eternal shock, she _smiled_ at him. "It was . . . how shall I describe it?"

"Horrible? The worst mistake of your life?" he inserted.

"No! I . . . do you think I would come back if it was like that?" she cried, confused. "Was it like that for you?"

"No . . . not at all . . . but I'm a man, dearie, and it's different for us . . ." Gods, did he really _say_ that out loud?

"Are you asking if I enjoyed it? Oh, Rum! The answer is _yes._ You made me feel so . . . wonderful, so beautiful . . .there aren't words enough to tell you how I feel. I must sound like a . . . a babbling idiot but . . ."

"No, that's me, dearie. Some thief came and stole all my wits this morning."

She smirked. "I've heard that sometimes happens . . . when you play too vigorously with it . . ."

"Belle! My gods!" he almost choked on a piece of toast. "I assure you . . . that is _not_ true. It's just when I found you gone, I thought . . . you ran away."

She smacked him on the back and then said, hurt by his assumption, "I would never leave you, Rum. The bargain I made was forever. Unless you throw me out, I will be here, all day, all night, no matter what." She gently cupped his chin in her hands. "Don't you see, Rum? I've never let any man, not even Gaston, get close to me like that. Never! You're the first and the only." She picked up a fork and fed him some eggs. "How does that taste?"

"Divine," he murmured and swallowed. Her admission should have made him feel better, instead it made him feel saddened. "If I hurt you, I apologize," he said before taking some bacon and eating it.

"You didn't . . . well, only a little . . ." she admitted, coloring. "But I'm told that's normal for a woman's first time . . ."

He nodded, and quickly ate some potatoes. Maybe if he kept his mouth full he could avoid putting his foot in it. Right then, eating was safer than talking. Especially because he wasn't quite sure he believed her. Milah had never been this . . . effusive over their nights together. He set down his fork, the plate was empty and picked up his cup of coffee. He glanced sidelong at her, recalling how he had half-pinned her to the bed and couldn't resist asking again, "Are you _sure_ I didn't hurt you? You can tell me, I won't . . . curse you or anything."

Belle shook her head, getting a little irritated at his constant questioning. "Gods and hells, Rumplestiltskin! Didn't you _hear_ me? I . . . am . . . _fine_! Or don't you trust me to tell you the truth? I've never lied to you before. Why would I start now?"

"Belle, I didn't mean that you were lying," he began awkwardly, groping for words that wouldn't come. Maybe he'd hit his head last night? He didn't remember banging his head anywhere, but what if he had and didn't know it?

"No? Well, it sure seems like that's what you're implying . . ._sorcerer!_" she snapped, sudden tears filling her eyes. "Can't you trust me? Even a little? Even after what we shared?" When he remained mute, she glared at him and scrambled off the bed. "You're impossible, Rumplestiltskin! And you can do your _own_ dishes this morning . . . my _lord_!"

With that, she flounced out of the room and the door slammed behind her.

Rumplestiltskin sat there, thinking dazedly, _She's got some temper. Who knew? I haven't been told off that good since I came home and Milah tore me to shreds. _He sent the tray with the dirty dishes downstairs with a wave of his hand and finished his coffee, setting the chipped mug down on the dresser before rising to his feet and pulling on his clothes. By the time he'd finished getting his boots on, he found himself breathing hard and rather indignant that he'd allowed his own chatelaine to talk to him like that. Really, who did she think she was? He gave her a roof over her head and food to eat, the run of his castle. And this was how she repaid him?

Suddenly the room seemed too cramped and small and he needed some air. He decided to take a trip to town. The walk would do him good and he needed some time alone. Some time to think and not to feel. His boots tapped a staccato rhythm down the stairs as he limped out the doors.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle heard the castle doors slam and she almost jumped out of her skin. Then she relaxed, realizing Rumplestiltskin had probably gone out somewhere. For a moment, she wondered if she had made him angry and he was going to throw her out of the castle. Then her temper flared and she thought about how stubborn the man could be. Sometimes he made her so mad she wanted to . . . to slap his face or . . . or . . . _tie him to the bed,_ came a sudden naughty thought.

She froze. Where had _that_ come from? But wicked as it was, she couldn't help but smile, imagining the look on his face if she told him _that._ Enough! If he was stupid enough to not believe her when she told him that last night had been the stuff dreams were made of, then she might as well give up. An instant later she shook her head. She would _not_ do that. That was what his first wife had done, probably what every woman had done that he'd known. But not her. She would _make_ him see she loved him. She would fight for this strange and wondrous feeling called love.

He might be the most powerful sorcerer ever, but he too was just a man. And she loved him. She would just have to keep pushing that fact in his face. But what if that made him run from her? No, she couldn't bear it if that happened. She nearly bit her nails in frustration. Then she decided to go on a cleaning spree, because anything was better than standing here in the kitchen thinking lustful lovelorn thoughts about her employer.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Rumplestiltskin had reached the town square, and today was market day, where all the villagers from the outlying farms came into town to sell their produce. He was about to buy a piece of fruit from one of them when he felt a tug on his cloak and looked down.

He found an old woman, dressed in a faded gray cloak and a ragged brown dress sitting beside a wooden begging bowl and said, "Here now, Grandmother, what is it?" he used the term out of respect, for he could feel a touch of magic about this woman, and he wasn't sure if she was a sorceress in disguise. He didn't want to waste his power unmasking her if she was, and besides, he knew what it was to go hungry.

"Please, have you a copper for an old blind woman?"

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. "I'd wager you see better than most, old one. But here." He placed two gold pieces into her bowl, knowing she would feel what they were. Money was no object to him, he could always spin more straw, and she didn't know who he was, so his reputation was safe.

She groped for the coins and bit gently to test one. "Oh! Thank you kindly, sir!" she nearly wept for joy. "I and my grandkids shall eat for three months on this." Her clawlike hand suddenly gripped his. "You seem tense, sir. Having some problems, sonny?"

He gave her a sharp look. "What do you know about it?"

"I can always sense trouble. It's a Gift I have. Just a small one. Maybe to make up for losing my sight. And I can feel you're troubled. About someone . . . a woman, most likely."

"Any two bit fortune teller could have told that," he snorted.

"Ah, they could, but could they tell you what to do about it? I think not!" the old woman laughed. "It's not her you don't trust, it's yourself. You're afraid—afraid of hurting her and afraid of your own heart getting hurt again."

Rumplestiltskin stiffened. "What manner of conjurer are you?"

"Relax, sonny. Mama Fortuna's my name, or was back when I was young and able to see. She troubles you, this girl. You love her but are afraid to say so." She groped in a small pouch at her waist and withdrew something wrapped in a dirty red cloth. "Here. Sometimes love doesn't need words, but actions. Sometimes the heart knows what's best before the mouth can speak. Take this. You helped me, now I shall help you." She pressed the cloth wrapped object into his hand.

"What is this? I don't need—"

"Oh, yes, you do, sonny! I know a desperate lover when I touch one. This is a very old thing, and it has a bit of magic of its own. Give this to her and she will know what you feel without saying a word."

He tried to give her whatever it was back, but she refused. "No. It's payment for services rendered."

"All I did was give you some coins," he sputtered.

"One kindness deserves another. Take it. And hurry home now. She's waiting for you. And you have what you were looking for."

Rumplestiltskin looked down at the dirty cloth in his hand.

When he looked up again, the old woman had vanished.

Closing his hand about the cloth, he turned away from the market. He was no longer hungry and he wanted some privacy to check this . . . object for any curses.

"Daft old thing! Thinking _I_ needed her help!" he snorted to himself, striding into the trees and then casting a few charms. There was no curse upon it and he carefully unwrapped the object to reveal . . . a lovely tricolor gold necklace shaped like a rose. The craftsmanship was exquisite. He had never seen a finer piece. He gently stroked it with a finger. It was perfect for Belle. He could imagine it around her neck. How it would sparkle, this little trinket, this . . . tangible reminder that she held his heart in her keeping, however he tried to deny it.

He smiled and gently tucked it back in the cloth and continued home.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle had fallen asleep waiting for the roast to get done, leaning her head on her hand on the kitchen table. When she awoke some fifteen minutes later to the smell of beef juices simmering, she found a small box next to her hand on the table. With it was a note. "What's this?" she asked herself, then she carefully undid the string about the note and read the following words penned in neat script.

_Belle,_

_I'm sorry. I don't trust easily._

_Rum_

She hugged the note to her. He had written her an apology. She opened the box, and gasped when she saw the beautiful charm. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever had, though it was not encrusted with diamonds or jewels. Its very simplicity made it ten times more lovely than any jewel she had ever received as a princess from her father or Gaston.

She gently undid the delicate gold chain and put it on. It lay against her neck and somehow it warmed her. _Oh! He does love me!_ For no man would give such a thing unless he loved her as she loved him.

She twirled and stroked the rose for a moment, her heart singing. Until her nose smelled something burning and she jumped up from the chair.

"Oh no! My roast!"

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

A hearty beef stew awaited Rumplestiltskin as he sat down for dinner that night. He sniffed appreciatively and picked up his spoon, waiting for Belle to seat herself. To his delight, he saw she was wearing the necklace. "I see you received my little . . . gift."

She blushed a becoming rose. "It's lovely. I've never gotten anything so beautiful in my life."

"Oh, come now. It's just a trifle." He went to drink his wine.

"No, it isn't. Not to me." She fingered the rose lovingly. "I just wish I had something to give you in return."

"You've already given me enough, dearie," he told her, and of its own volition, his hand reached out for hers.

At his touch she shivered all the way down to her toes. But she let her hand remain in his.

They ate their stew quietly, then he looked at her and said, "What did you make for dessert tonight, Belle?"

"Cookies. Peanut butter with chocolate chips," she replied, running her tongue over her lip.

"Mmm. I've never had them before. But they sound . . . delicious." He was almost drooling . . . at her licking her lip.

"And after . . . I have something even better," she purred.

His eyes widened. "You . . . aren't . . . you little vixen!" he laughed huskily.

She clasped his other hand in hers. "Believe me, Rumplestiltskin. I mean what I say."

He stared into her eyes. "I believe you," he whispered, then he kissed her fiercely. "Just a taste."

She laughed up at him. "I will treasure it . . . until later."

Rumplestiltskin ate those cookies faster than he had ever eaten anything in his life, even when he was starving.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

The next few days were some of the happiest days the sorcerer and Belle had ever known together. They teased and played silly games with one another through the castle, and at night, Belle was more than willing to sleep together in his bed, which was fit for a king, she joked. Or a lovestruck spinner and a princess, he returned.

But one afternoon, he realized he was running low on straw and said lazily, "Belle, would you mind doing me a favor, dearie?"

"What, Rum?" she asked, quietly dusting the chipped cup in the cabinet.

"Would you mind running a little errand for me? I need more straw. Could you go to town and get some?"

"You're . . . letting me go out? Alone?" She hadn't been out of the castle in months.

"My leg's paining me a smidgen, dearie, so I can't go with you." He rubbed it. "I trust you. Surely you know the way back?"

"Of course. I'll be back very soon. And then I'll massage your leg for you," she grinned, moving her hand up to touch the rose pendant.

Rumplestiltskin smirked at her. "Is that a promise, Belle?"

"You know perfectly well it is, Rum."

"Very well. I'll await your return with baited breath."

She tossed her head like a spirited mare and headed for the doors. She would be back in two hours, more or less. And while she was walking she would plan what they'd have for supper that night. She nearly giggled aloud at how . . . domesticated she sounded. Like an old married couple. She pushed open the doors and tilted her head to hear the songbirds twittering. The outing was an unexpected pleasure, like so many things about her unexpected sorcerer. She hurried down the road on eager feet, anxious to get there and back again before dark.

**A/N: Yes, the last part is coming, and it may not be exactly what you think, because where's the fun in that?**


	4. A Heart Destroyed and Yet Redeemed

**4**

**A Heart Destroyed and Yet Redeemed**

Belle continued down the road back to the castle. Her trip to town had been a success, she had gotten more straw and on the way back had met a great lady in a carriage who had apologized to her for splashing mud on her dress and then offered her some advice on magic and love that Belle found very interesting and also startling. After the lady in black had gone on, she found she had new hope in her heart. If she could manage to break the dreadful curse on Rumplestiltskin, he'd be free, no longer seen as a monster, no longer a slave to dark magic. Then they could love each other without reservation.

Rumplestiltskin watched through the window, as he had been for the past hour. It was growing dark and he feared something had befallen Belle, who had not returned yet. He was almost inclined to go out and search for her, he never should have let her go alone, too many things could have happened to a lone woman, or, may all the gods forbid, she had run off at the first opportunity.

_"I will never leave you,"_ her voice echoed clear and true in his head.

He wanted to believe that, he wanted it so much it hurt.

But then, Milah had promised much the same thing, once upon a time.

And she had abandoned him and Bae, leaving him with a heart torn and shattered.

Despite her reassurances, despite the love he now bore her, he was still frightened that it wouldn't last. Anything good in his life never had, whether through his fault or another's. And given his track record, he was sure these halcyon days were coming to an end.

It was then he noticed that Belle was coming into the front courtyard. His heart did a sudden leap of joy and before he knew what he was doing, he had run from the bedroom window and down the stairs, taking the steps almost two at a time. He came to his wheel, set up in the front room, and sat down just as Belle came into the castle.

"Oh, you're back," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. _At last._

Belle smiled at him, her basket was overflowing with straw. She set it down next to his wheel with a slight thump, her necklace glistening in the lamplight. "It took a little longer than I thought. Coming home I met a noblewoman traveling the same way and we got to talking."

Rumplestiltskin was immediately suspicious. "What was her name? There are no estates out this way. I own the land for miles around."

"She . . . she didn't say." Belle said uncertainly. "But why does it matter? I missed you, Rum." Maybe now was the time to put her plan into action. She pulled him into her arms and kissed him, letting all of her passion, all of the love of her innocent heart, to flow through her in that kiss.

He found he accepted her kiss greedily, like a dying plant starved for sunlight, passion shot through him like a jolt of lightning. He drew her closer, as if he would absorb her into his very being, as if they could become one—_RumplestiltskinBelle—_and no longer two separate people ever again. His love starved heart expanded and opened, feeling warmth and light, and suddenly he felt weak . . . as if he was losing his strength, his magic.

"It's working, love!" Belle exclaimed breathlessly. "Your curse . . . it's breaking! True love breaks all curses."

Her words struck terror into his heart. He drew back, staring at her in horrified fascination. "Who told you that?" he gasped, trembling slightly. "_Who told you that?"_ he half howled. Betrayed! He had been betrayed again. Pain stabbed him in his midsection and he almost doubled over. Only pride kept him on his feet. _It could not be . . . and yet it was . . . he could his power slipping away, like blood from a mortal wound._

Belle drew back, suddenly afraid of this stranger, who looked normal but acted like a crazy man. "She . . . she did. The lady on the road . . ."

"I _knew_ it!" he roared. "I _knew_ this was too good to be true. You were sent by her . . . to trick me . . . to make me weak . . ." He wrapped his arms about his middle to hold the shattered pieces of his heart. He turned away to hide the inexpressible pain surging through him.

"Rum! I wasn't sent by anyone!" Belle objected. She went to touch his shoulder and he shrank from her like a leper. "I came back, damn you! I _came back_!"

"Yes, you came back! On _her_ orders! Your friend . . . the _Queen_! Queen Regina of the Enchanted Forest. My old, old enemy. All this time . . . you were working for her!"

"No! _No!_ Rumplestiltskin, you're not listening to me. I only just met her today, I never knew she _was_ a Queen!" Again she clutched at his shoulder. "I would never hurt you like that. I'm not a spy. Dammit, I love you!"

He flinched like she had just struck a mortal blow. "No, you don't. Because no one could ever love _me_!"

She grabbed him by the shoulders, tears overflowing down her cheeks. "You're wrong, Rum! I love you. You were freeing yourself, I could feel it. The magic was changing you back. But then you became afraid. . ."

"Maybe I just love power more, dearie," he said, his voice biting and hard.

"No. I know you. You don't love power. You're just afraid of losing your heart again. To someone who cares—someone who loves you."

He shook his head. "My magic gave me a new life from the ashes of the old."

"Yes, but it also trapped you in a role you were never meant to play. _That_ was what I was trying to save you from. But even love cannot free you if you push it aside."

"I need my magic, dearie." He said. Listening to her, he believed the Queen had played with her, as she played with everyone. He had to get her away from him. He was like poison, and she would wither and die if she remained here, she was vulnerable to attacks from the queen now. So he said, in an icy cruel tone, one that shredded him to pieces, "I don't need you anymore, Belle."

It was a lie. But he made his voice steady and certain, like the duke's noble friends, so she would believe.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Go. Just go." He pointed towards the door.

"You're . . . you're telling me to leave?" She looked as if he had run her through.

"Get out! Now!" he shouted. Several things shattered and broke from the force of his rage as his magic responded to him. Glass shards winked at him from the floor, along with splintered wood.

"Fine!" she yelled back, gathering her courage. She felt as though she were falling . . . falling into a nightmare and she couldn't wake, no matter how hard she tried. "I'll go . . . and you'll be left with an empty heart and a chipped cup for your troubles." Her chin trembled, but she held her head high. His words had hurt her deeply, but the wound was bleeding out sluggishly. She turned and walked towards the doors, feeling as if her heart had been carved out and left upon the floor, one last sacrifice to true love.

_Don't leave!_ She heard one voice call to her. _He doesn't mean it! He's just lashing out at you from fear._

_But I'm not a doormat! I'm a princess of the House of Beauchamp! And I'll not stay where I'm not wanted. Damn you, Rumplestiltskin!_

Anger gave her feet wings and she almost flew across the floor. Suddenly she tripped, and one hand closed upon the rose necklace. She stopped. Turned. There was one more thing she had to say.

"I will always love you, Rumplestiltskin. But it's not enough, is it? Remember."

Then she walked away, seeing him sway like a chopped tree in a high wind, his face a mask of cold acceptance. All except his eyes. For one instant, she caught the torment within their depths. She almost stayed then. But some spark of anger drove her onward and she ran, ran as if possessed, until she was breathless and panting, down the road and into the wood near the town, to fling herself down on the cold hard ground and weep into her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

The slamming of the doors was like a death knell. He felt it deep within his soul and it echoed in the empty spaces. _Come back! Don't go!_ He silently called to her retreating form. But he was voiceless, like a drowning man, drowning in his own grief and sorrow, of lost chances, and a love that had almost healed his destroyed heart. Belle had been right. He had been afraid. But not of losing his heart, it had been lost weeks before to the dark-haired beauty. No, he had been afraid of her love for him, that it would destroy her, and he would not have it so, for he was not worth it. His enemies would hurt her if they could, if they suspected he loved her, she would be a pawn in their games of power. Especially Regina.

_Run, my lovely fawn! Run and hide, and forget me. I cannot protect you, not all my magic can save you from your own foolish heart, which loves an unworthy beast._ _It's better so._

That might have been so, but oh gods, it hurt! He grasped the frame of the wheel, half doubled over, wheezing. The pain was smothering him, squeezing him in a vice, until spots danced before his eyes, which had begun leaking tears. _It's the only way. The only way,_ he repeated. _Remember, I love you always, Rumplestiltskin._ He covered his face with his hands. _Belle. I will always love you. Until the stars crumble from the sky, I will love you._ He began to sob, like a lost child, for he had sent away his last hope and now his heart would remain broken forever. But at least she was safe. Wasn't she?

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Alice stared at the bedraggled figure that stumbled through the garden gate. The hem of her blue dress was stained with mud and her cloak was ragged and her hair snarled. Her shoes were worn to scraps and Alice almost didn't recognize her. Then the beggar raised her head and Alice gasped. "B-Belle?"

"Alice?" Belle's voice was hoarse.

Then she took two steps forward and fell into her friend's arms.

Alice clasped her to her floury apron, her blond hair mingling with the seal brown tresses, and there were tears in her brilliant green eyes. "You've come home, Belle. Gods, how I missed you."

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

_Nine months later:_

She lay gasping in the bed, weak from the loss of blood, though Tansy said it had been an easy birth for a first time. All Belle knew was that she was exhausted, and wanted to sleep. Her arms rocked her baby daughter, her beautiful miracle, with big brown eyes like her father's and a fuzz of dark hair. Her skin was slightly red, but Tansy assured it would clear up in a few days. "So beautiful. My lovely little Alina Rose."

"Alina? For your mother?" Alice said, smiling down on them.

"Yes. Mama would have liked that."

"And her middle name? Does it have to do with her father?" Alice asked. Belle had told her the whole story and Alice did not judge her. Especially not since she had married a mercenary and was big with his child.

"It does. He gave me the gift of a rose," Belle murmured and one finger stroked the rose pendant about her neck. "It's a symbol of our love."

"You seem to be doing fine, milady," Tansy said. "I shall go inform King Maurice of the birth of his first grandchild." She swept out of the room, leaving mother, child, and her soon to be godmother alone.

_A hour later:_

"Take the baby . . ." Belle ordered, struggling to sit up. She was so weak. But she couldn't let that stop her. She had to get the baby away from here before the guards came.

Alice stared at her. "Belle, I think he's not in his right mind . . . to issue an order like that . . . his own kin!" her gaze darted to the bassinet, where baby Alina Rose slept peacefully, unknowing of her peril.

"I can't wait for him to _be_ in his right mind, Alice! He hates her because of her father, don't you see? Thinks she's an . . . abomination, a magical freak! My beautiful little girl! Take her! Bring her to Rum. He'll look after her until . . .until I can travel. _Please_, Alice! As my best friend, the only one I can trust, do this for me!"

"Are you sure? I could try and help you onto a cart. Then you could both come . . ."

"No. That would never work. Gods and hells, you're almost ready to deliver yourself! You can't be dragging me down the hall. Take my daughter, bring her to the Dark Castle. I will follow as soon as I get my strength back. It should only take you three days on foot." She wrenched a ring off her finger. "Here. Give him this, to prove I sent you." It was her House ring, the Beauchamp crest of a crown in the middle of a rose bush. A rose for the crown. She almost gave Alice the locket instead, but at the last moment, her heart failed her. It was the only thing she had that he had given her, the blue dress long ago consigned to the rag bin. She clutched the rose pendant, and it was almost as if she felt his heart beating along with hers. _Rum, protect our baby._

She fell back on the bed. "Hurry, Alice."

"You don't look so good, Belle. I . . hope you're not getting sick."

"Don't worry about me! We need to worry about those damn guards of my father's. You know they're sworn to him. Gaston hates me now, he'll do whatever Papa wants. _Whatever_ he wants, up to and including killing my baby. Go, Alice! Before the guard at the gate changes and you can't leave."

"All right. Lie down, no sense getting yourself worked up," Alice hissed. Then she opened a large basket, removing several loaves of bread. She placed a downy blanket in the basket and then lifted the sleeping baby and tucked her inside, carefully putting the blanket over her and the loaves of bread around her. The she shut the basket. "There! Nothing here but bread for the villagers beyond the gate." Alice grinned slyly and patted her bulging middle. "I doubt that idiot Rowan will dare stop a pregnant woman on an errand. Not if he wants any of my pastries!"

"Goodbye, Alice! And . . . good luck."

"Don't worry, Belle. I'll be back before you know it. And I'll keep the baby safe." Then she was gone, like mist over the moors.

A few minutes later, a heavy hand pounded on the door.

Belle pretended to sleep, and the door burst open to admit a red-faced Gaston and two other guards in mail. "Princess! We've come to show the baby to her grandfather," Gaston bellowed. "Where is she?"

Belle didn't answer, her hands clenched into fists beneath the sheet. If she were stronger, she would have tried to strangle the arrogant knight for his lying, treacherous tongue.

"Belle?" Gaston peered down at her. "She's asleep. Find the damn baby!"

"She—it's not here, sir!" reported one guard, gesturing to the cradle.

"Gods and hells! Search everywhere! We need to find that creature! I want this palace searched from tower to midden. The king wants it found and its miserable life ended so no taint of dark magic infects us."

The sound of feet marching away echoed in Belle's dreams when she finally fell asleep. She was terribly afraid and prayed that Alice and the baby were safe.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

A pounding on the door woke Rumplestiltskin from his nap. He looked at the mantle clock and swore. Who in seven hells was banging on his door at this time of night? Who would dare the wrath of the Dark One?

He yanked open the door and saw a woman, great with child, standing on the front steps with a basket clutched to her. "Who are you and what do you want?" he snapped, irritated. "If you're looking for a blessing for your brat in there, find a hedge witch, I don't do those. If you want a curse or a love potion, come back tomorrow! Now go away!" He made as if to slam the door in her face.

Just then the baby beneath the bread woke and began to cry.

"Huh? What's that? You've got another one? Gods and hells, woman! What are you—a rabbit?"

"No, but I know a white one who's always late. Let me in, Rumplestiltskin. For the love that Belle bore you, let me in out of the cold, before your baby perishes." Alice stuck her foot out so he couldn't close the door.

Rumplestiltskin half-dragged her into the hall. "What are you talking about, girl? I don't have a child. Not anymore." He glared at her.

She glared right back. "My name isn't _girl_. It's Alice. I'm Belle's best friend, she told me to give you this." She handed him the ring. "Recognize it? She said you would."

He took it and just stood there looking for a long moment. "Belle sent you?"

"Yes." Alice gently undid the lid on the basket, tossed the bread on the table, and gently removed the screaming baby from the basket. "Supper, my lord. And your daughter. Meet Alina Rose."

Rumplestiltskin took the howling infant in his arms. He looked down into the beet red little face and grinned. "You are so like your mother, sweetheart."

"Humph! She looks kind of like her father too, with her face all crinkled. I'll heat up a bottle if you'll change her. There are cloths in there. Do you have goat's milk?"

"Ask the pantry, it'll give you what you need." Rumplestiltskin said absently, still staring at the baby. "Shh, little one. I'm here. Right here." He moved to fetch a clean diaper and snapped his fingers and a bowl of warm water and a soft cloth appeared on the table. As he changed the baby, amazed that he hadn't forgotten how, he said, "Where's Belle?"

"Still at the castle. She couldn't come with me, the birth took a lot out of her. But I'm going back to get her. You should have been there, spinner!"

"How could I? I didn't know!"

"You didn't bother to find out, did you?" Alice moved into the kitchen area and located the pantry.

Rumplestiltskin finished diapering the baby and picked her up before saying, "You've got an insolent mouth on you, woman. I pity your poor husband, whoever he is."

"You're a fine one to talk," Alice snorted. She spoke to the pantry and soon had poured goat's milk from a pitcher into a small glass bottle. "Ah, hells! Forgot about the nipple."

"Here," the sorcerer whispered something and a nipple appeared on the bottle.

"You know how to do this, right?" Alice asked.

"Of course! I'm not ignorant, I've been a parent before," Rumplestiltskin snapped. "Have you?"

"Not yet. But soon."

"Gods help us all," he muttered and stuck the nipple in Alina's mouth. The howling ceased. "You can spend the night here."

"Thank you. I'll be on my way back in the morning. And soon Belle will join you here."

"Is that what she wants?"

"It's better than staying with a father who tried to kill his own granddaughter."

"What? Why? Is he mad?"

"I think so. But then, I don't think that baby is a monster either. But Maurice does. That's why he wanted her exposed. Said she was tainted with dark magic."

Rumplestiltskin looked as though he were about to explode. "And they call _me_ a monster! That penny-pinching reject from an ogre's ass! I ought to change him into a snail and step on him!" Alina made a soft cry of protest. He gently took the bottle away and held her on his shoulder. "I think you need to burp, lovely girl." He patted her back, murmuring, "Don't be afraid. Papa will protect you from your idiot grandfather."

Alice raised an eyebrow. "Would you really?"

"Absolutely. No one hurts my family. Not ever," Rumplestiltskin swore. "I've made a lot of mistakes in my time, Alice, but one thing I do know is that I love Belle and I love my child. Forever and always."

"Better late than never, magician," Alice said. "But you'd better not hurt her."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it's a promise. Lots of things find their way into soup when you tick off the cook."

Rumplestiltskin laughed. "I'll keep it in mind."

Just then the baby burped loudly.

"Good job, sweetheart," praised her besotted father. "Looks like I'd better get the cradle down from the attic."

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted. I need some sleep."

"There's a bedroom upstairs. Can you make it that far?"

"I walked three days here on my own two feet with a baby, magician. I think I can manage the stairs." Alice said, somewhat crossly. Her back was beginning to hurt.

"All right then. One more thing, Alice. Don't have your baby on the floor."

"You're a riot, Rumplestiltskin. Good night."

Then she left father and daughter to bond and crawled upstairs to sleep.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

It had been two weeks since Alice had left and still Rumplestiltskin had no word of what had happened to her or to Belle. He supposed Alice could have had her baby by now, and that was why they had been delayed. He wished desperately to see for himself, but he couldn't leave his daughter alone in the castle, the queen was abroad and he would never risk Alina's life. And magical travel with an infant was too dangerous, they had been known to smother accidentally when transporting from place to place because of the compressed space and air. So he had to cultivate patience, not something he had a lot of, and just wait.

He had just put his daughter down for a nap and covered her with a light blanket he'd spun of softest merino wool when he turned at a noise and saw the Queen standing there in his entryway. He checked himself sharply and muttered an Illusion Charm under his breath. Then he snarled, "How did you get past my wards? They're supposed to keep out vermin."

"Oh, Rumple! Sounds like someone's in a bad mood!" she chuckled sultrily. "What's wrong? Your latest potion blew up?"

"Hardly," he moved in front of the cradle, which was near the hearth. "Did you come through a mirror?"

"You forgot to cover one." She looked gleeful, like a naughty child pulling wings off butterflies.

"I'm breaking them all next time."

"That's not very nice, Rumple," she pouted. "You'd think you'd be glad to see me."

"I'm about as glad to see you as I am to see a roach in my cupboard."

She walked about the hall as if she owned it, surveying it critically. "What's with the cradle, Rumple? You expecting? Or are you just nostalgic?"

"I'm getting rid of it. You'd be amazed at the things you find cleaning out the attic."

The Queen snorted. "You know that little piece you had here for awhile? What was her name again?"

"Belle. What of her?"

"Well, far be it for me to be the bearer of bad news . . . but . . . I have something to tell you. I'd heard you let her go. Back to her father."

"I did."

"But you don't know what really happened, do you?" The Queen purred. "Let me tell you. After her . . . association with you, her father turned her back on her. Shunned her like a leper. Kicked her out of the castle, it's said."

"So she needs . . . a home?"

"Oh no. It's too late for that. He locked her in a tower, you see. It seems she refused to admit that she was held captive by a monster who did . . . unspeakable things to her. It upset the king very much, that his own daughter defended you to him. So he . . . tried to persuade her to his way of thinking. With clerics with hot irons and that sort of thing. Really depressing. But then, they say she was already depressed from losing her child. Did she tell you that she was carrying?"

Rumplestiltskin went still. She could not know of Alina. "No. Unless it wasn't mine."

"Could be. In any case, it's said the baby was born cursed and Maurice had it exposed. Then he locked Belle away. They said . . . she went mad. And threw herself off the top of the tower. Such a shame."

"You're lying."

The Queen gave him a pitying look. "Am I?"

"We're done," he snarled. He gestured and the doors opened.

"Goodbye, Rumple. Maybe you ought to hire a housekeeper. These rooms are getting . . . a bit dusty."

Rumplestiltskin collapsed on the floor as soon as the Queen had sailed out the door. His throat was tight. "She can't be dead. She _can't._" He whispered to the sleeping Alina. He rocked the cradle and then sent his magic throughout the castle, breaking all the mirrors in it, even the ones he'd kept covered. He should have done that long ago, more fool him!

"She was lying. She has to be," he cried. But what if she hadn't been?

"Belle, where are you? Or Alice? Where are you both?"

Three days later he was almost desperate enough to do a Seeing in water, despite the fact that divining had never been his strong suit, when Alice arrived at his front door, looking like something a cat had dragged in.

"Alice! Where's Belle?" he cried, leading her into the hall.

"Gone," the young woman said dully. "Both of them. Gone, magician."

"Both of them? Gone where?"

"To heaven, Rumplestiltskin. Belle and my baby. Stillborn. I tried . . . forgive me . . . I tried . . ."

"No! She can't be dead!"

"Believe me, no one wishes that less than I do. But when I got home . . . she was gone. Died in the night of a fever. Maurice, the old fool, locked her up. She took sick and that was it. I couldn't . . . couldn't do anything! I . . . I fainted when I heard the news . . . and then my time came on me and . . ."

She began to cry wretchedly.

Rumplestiltskin put his arm around her. "Where in seven hells is your husband?"

"I don't know! He should have been back by now! But he isn't! And I can't stay there! They all look at me like I'm cursed. I'm so sorry. She was my only friend, and now she's gone, I can't . . .!"

She abruptly threw her arms about him, and her touch snapped something inside of him. Clinging to her, he wept, a storm of tears and sorrow that tossed his shattered heart about in his chest. Together they mourned the loss of the one woman they had both loved, until finally grief let them go, and they crumpled exhausted to the couch, spent.

Alice drew away from him, wiping her eyes. "Where's Alina?"

"Asleep upstairs. You want to see her?"

"Yes. It might help . . . to see one living . . ." she sniffled sharply. "I'm her godmother, you know. Belle wanted it."

"I figured as much, dearie," He handed her a handkerchief.

She blew her nose. "Look, I figured I could help you take care of the baby. Keep house for you, cook supper, that sort of thing. You don't have to pay me. Do we have a deal?"

"Is that what you want?"

"I have nowhere else to go. And I love Alina. If my husband returns, he can stay here too, all right?"

"Yes. I think . . . I think Belle would have wanted it that way." He shook her hand to seal the bargain.

And so the deal was struck, and the broken-hearted sorcerer managed to pick up the pieces and have a new life, with his small daughter and his unconventional housekeeper as companions to fill his days and nights with laughter and love. Only sometimes, when the night was still, and the moon soared high in the sky, did he pause and listen, for occasionally, in the sigh of the wind he heard her voice.

_I will love you always, Rumplestiltskin. Remember._

**_A/N: Hope you all liked! Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this!_**


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